


Sugar

by zeldadestry



Category: Sex Lies and Videotape (1989)
Genre: Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-15
Updated: 2010-12-15
Packaged: 2017-10-13 16:48:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/139473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeldadestry/pseuds/zeldadestry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anne's glad her life is changing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sugar

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sabrina_il (marina)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/marina/gifts).



They’ve finished their entrees but Cynthia asked their waiter for the dessert menu, so Anne sits on with her sister, sipping at her iced tea.

“Warm chocolate cake with a molten center, topped with whipped cream,” Cynthia says, smirking. “I gotta order that. You gonna try some?”

“Chocolate makes me nervous.”

“Bless you, Anne, but what the hell doesn’t make you nervous?”

“Chocolate has caffeine in it. That’s what gets me jittery.”

“So does the iced tea you’re nursing.”

Anne frowns, reaches across the table and jerks the menu out of her sister’s hands. She runs her finger down the list of options quickly, stopping when one catches her eye. “Pineapple upside down cake, please,” she says, when their waiter returns.

“Bring me the chocolate cake,” Cynthia says, winking up at him.

Anne watches her sister watch their waiter walk back to the kitchen. “I don’t think he’s that cute,” she says.

“Yeah, like you’ve got eyes for anyone but Graham, anyway.” Anne shrugs, shifts in her seat when Cynthia leans forward, examining her. “You look good, you know that?”

Anne feels her face flush, feelings of vanity and shame stirred. “So I didn’t before?”

Cynthia waves her hand. “Oh, come on. My whole life, all I ever hear is how beautiful my sister is. If I’m sick of it by now, why aren’t you? You looked good before, you know you did.” Anne runs a hand over the top of her head, hoping to smooth down any flyaway hairs. “You just look different now, that’s all.”

“Different how?”

“Christ, I don’t know.” Cynthia stretches out her hand towards Anne’s own, which is resting on the table. Cynthia’s hand hovers without touching, until she lays it down beside Anne’s. Anne stares at the tableau. The shape of their fingers is the same. “You look happy, ok?”

“Ok.” Anne pushes her chair back a bit from the table, crosses her legs and rests her hands in her lap. “I started therapy again,” she says.

“Yeah? Same guy as before?”

“No. I see a woman, now.”

“You like that better?”

“Yes, I like her.”

“What do you talk about?”

“My life now, mostly. Sometimes we talk about the past. Sometimes, sometimes I just sit there.”

“But isn’t the whole point that you pay her money to listen? How can she do that if you’re not talking?”

“It’s progress,” Anne explains. “Before, with him, I would say things just to, I don’t know, distract myself, I guess, distract him.”

“Wait, are we talking about John?”

Anne takes in a sharp breath. She can’t remember the last time either of them said his name to each other. “No, I was talking about therapy, but, yeah, you’re right. I did the same thing with John.”

“And with Graham?”

“I don’t want to talk about Graham with you.” Anne touches her lips, surprised by the anger in her voice, not that she felt it, but that she let it out.

Cynthia puts her hands up. “Ok, ok, whoa, take it easy.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s ok. I get it.”

“You do?”

“Yeah, I mean, he’s your boyfriend, right? And you don’t want to share him with anybody else.”

Anne smiles. “That makes me sound greedy.” The waiter approaches, bringing their desserts. Anne waits until he’s left to pick up her fork and take her first small bite.

“Good?” Cynthia asks. She’s already got chocolate smeared across her lips. When Anne points it out, she licks it off and grins. “Yum.”

“Mine’s nice, too.”

“Is that all?”

“It’s - very nice.”

“That’s all you’ve got?”

Anne squeezes her hand around her fork. “It’s delicious, alright? Is that what you want to hear?”

Cynthia points a finger at her. “It’s a start.”

They finish their meal in silence. When Cynthia picks up the check, Anne almost protests, but decides to let it go. It’s fair, after all. She paid the last time they had lunch. When they reach the front door of the restaurant, Cynthia holds it open for her. “Thanks,” Anne says, stepping through. Stopping on the sidewalk, she digs into her purse and brings out her sunglasses. She always feels a little bit more secure once she’s got them on. Doesn’t matter if people look at her, now, because she’s free to stare back, glaring or admiring, whatever she wants. “Thanks for lunch.”

“No problem. Where’re you parked?”

“Few blocks over.”

“Can I walk with you?”

“Sure.” They fall into step beside each other, arms occasionally brushing. “Mom always told me to hold your hand when we went out as little kids, you remember that?”

“Yeah, and you always held on too tight.” Anne knocks her shoulder against her sister’s. “Hey!” Cynthia yelps. “Watch it.”

“I’m still mad, sometimes, I think I should tell you that. I mean, I have to tell you that, because that’s what I’m practicing now - saying what I think.”

“Mad? Because of the thing with John?”

“Yeah, because of the,” Anne grimaces, “because you fucked him.”

Cynthia laughs. “God, it’s good to hear you say that. I don’t - you should be mad, ok? And I’m just, I’m just so fucking glad it’s over now, for both of us. Because, I’m not saying it excuses anything or that you have to forgive me, or any of that, but shit’s - it’s a whole lot better now, right? I mean, am I crazy? You feel that, yeah?”

They’ve reached Anne’s car. Anne leans back against the passenger side door, faces her sister. She pushes her sunglasses up to rest on top of her head. “Yes, I’m glad things changed.” She hasn’t forgotten this look of Cynthia’s, over all the years they’ve been adults. Once, her little sister followed her around wearing that same admiration across her face. Anne reaches out, taps her fingers three times against her sister’s cheek. It’s a strange touch, the kind of affectionate pat their grandmother used to give them, but it’s all Anne can manage. “I’ve gotta get back to work.”

“Ok. We should - next week, you want to do this again?”

“Ok. I’ll call you on Monday.”

“Cool.”

Anne gets in and starts the car. She carefully pulls away from the curb, parallel parking makes her anxious, and out into the street. She checks the rearview mirror and raises her hand, waving at Cynthia’s reflection receding in it.

 

There’s a park across the street from her office and, most days after she’s finished, she meets Graham there. He rises from the bench where he was sitting when he sees her walking towards him, heads in her direction, eyes always on her, meets her halfway, wrapping his arms around her. She leans into him, presses kisses against his throat, shivers when he sighs, when he threads his fingers through her hair. She curves a hand around his jaw, fingertips tracing over his stubble. “Your hands are cold,” he murmurs.

“Oh.” She pulls away, her chin dropping to her chest, but she can’t swallow down her embarrassment. “Sorry.”

Graham steps forward, reaching for her hands before she can move any further. “That wasn’t what I meant,” he says, slipping her hands underneath his shirt and laying his own hands over them. His belly is flat and firm and hot under her touch and she strokes her thumbs across it. “Good?” he asks, after a moment.

Anne doesn’t need to speak to answer. She just raises her eyes to meet his again.


End file.
